


Catch a tiger by the toe.

by hellhoundsprey



Series: crime!aus [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jensen, Hostage Situations, M/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: You were chased by cops and took me as a hostage and now we’re spending the night in a dusty barn. (original prompt)





	

“Could be worse, y’know? Could be my gun instead.”

Blink-gasp on the next rut. Some straw digs into Jensen’s back. With his recent luck, ’s gonna leave a splinter, he thinks.

He holds his leg up like he was told, is kinda glad. At least he’s got something to do with his hands and doesn’t have to think about them. Doesn’t have to think at all.

When the guy is done, he rolls off, sits down next to him. Dust and night is in the air, along with Jensen’s blood. His, too, but now Jensen’s got a head start.

Breathing hurts. Everything hurts.

Rustling. Fingers on gun, checking, cocking it. Maybe undoes the magazine to check for bullets. Jensen’s not familiar with guns.

“You can let go of it.”

He lowers his leg, slowly. Rolls to his side. Faces away. Hugs himself. Curls in—feels wetness seeping where it shouldn’t seep. Hopes he’s not heard.

“Man. What a night,” the stranger muses, lets out a sigh.

~

“We’ll leave before dawn breaks.”

We.

Jensen can still walk, somehow, has to. He’s led to a truck. The stranger disappears after a passing, “Be right back,” and there are forty-three seconds he spends panicking over a possible time window to run for it.

Then, there is a gunshot from inside the farm, and Jensen decides to freeze and wait.

The stranger comes back, dangles the keys like a prize. Smiles.

~

Gas station, little flutter of heart, of hope—quickly crushed by a gun to his balls. The stranger drawls threats like compliments. The car seat is Jensen’s new best friend.

A bottle of water, banana, protein bar.

“Eat.”

Jensen does.

“Gotta piss?”

Jensen doesn’t dare nod. Not that it’d make any difference.

“Use the water bottle once it’s empty, okay?”

The gassed-up engine roars, and the desert has them back.

~

“You should get in the backseat.”

Jensen clutches the door like a lifeline.

Jay (‘call me Jay, ’s getting lonely with no one to talk to’) hardens his look, otherwise doesn’t move. “I said,” he says, “get. In. The backseat.”

Jensen does.

“Take your pants off.”

“No, no, please don’t—”

“You’re not deaf—” Jay climbs after him. “—and you’re not _dumb_ , so what’s the _problem_ here.”

It’s maybe a hundred and four degrees. The air is shimmering, and both of them are drenched in sweat. Jensen scoots backwards until he’s crowded up against the door, and Jay is hovering on all fours. He’s wiry, veiny. Maybe dehydrated, maybe a junkie.

Jay keeps his eyes on Jensen’s as he pulls something from the back pocket of his jeans. Must know Jensen must think it has to be the gun. But it’s not.

A bottle of KY is held out between them. Jensen stares at it in disbelief.

“A gift,” Jay hums, “’cause apparently you’re so tender.”

The car rocks, and Jensen can barely breathe. Has got his knees under his ears, a dick hammering somewhere close to what feels like his stomach. Jay’s got long hair, and he sweats like a pig.

It drips, drips, drips.

“You like that?”

When Jensen can’t or doesn’t answer, his jaw is being gripped, shaken.

“Talk to me—and what’s your name, anyway.”

Jensen mouths _Jensen_ , but his mouth is held shut then, and that’s that.

~

“Hey, I’m not happy either.” Jensen softens his glare with the natural submissiveness that comes from being handcuffed to a car door. Jay eyes him with a frown, like a concerned parent. “You weren’t _planned_.”


End file.
